Faces Look Ugly When You're Alone
by incense and peppermints
Summary: Although there's a lot more to Steve than most realize, he often wishes they were right, because one thing's for sure—life would be a lot easier if he cared about no one. Prebook.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns. The title comes from The Doors "People are Strange".

This story takes place pre-book and thus pre "Landslide". There will be a lot of overlap with "Duality" as you'll be able to tell in this chapter. Knowledge of Julia's stories may be useful, as you'll recognize the characters, but is certainly not required.

* * *

My first grade teacher used to tell me I oughta be more sympathetic to others' feelings. I can still hear her nasally tone if I concentrate hard enough; _Steven, you don't care about anyone's feelings but your own_, she'd say. _For heaven sakes, Steven, be kind to the other children_, she'd scold. Hell, I must've heard some variation of that a thousand times. Every goddamned day she had a bone to pick with me, and believe it or not, I once thought she had a point. Of course it didn't drive me to change my attitude much, but yeah, in theory, I guess humans oughta act nice, or whatever you wanna call that feel good shit. Problem is I know better now. Sympathy pulls you down. It makes you think too much, and before you know it, you're changing your mind as often as a clueless broad. It makes you do things you never signed up for 'cause you feel bad for somebody. Good for nothin', that is, unless you consider babysitting Ponyboy Curtis your idea of fun.

Damn kid just had to come to a party he's too young to be at. My muscles twitched the second I saw him, and I've been eyeing him ever since. No doubt about it he's the youngest here, and there he is downing a beer with Curly Shepard. He shouldn't be here, goddamn it, and I shouldn't be his fucking babysitter either.

Alright, I admit it. I feel bad for Darry. Go ahead and sue me.

Pony's cautious looks back to me tell me he knows I'm here, and better yet, that he knows _I know_ he's here. What a little shit. Darry'd have a heart attack if he knew about this. Guy's been running on empty since the night their folks died, and this is how Pony repays him—by doing what he does best, acting like a spoiled brat.

Oh, I heard the lies while I was over there tonight. _Nah,__ I'll just be stayin' home tonight _my ass. He lied right through his teeth not once, but twice. To Darry before he headed out on a date, and then again to Soda before he went to work.

Evie's bony elbow attacks my arm.

I flip around to find an irritated frown across her lips. She stands in front of me; all five feet of her.

"What's wrong with you?"

I groan and nod my head in Pony's direction. _That's_ what's wrong with me. I come here to have a good time with my girlfriend, and instead, I have to put up with this.

Evie crosses her arms, somehow offended by my gesture. "Oh, let him have a good time. A couple drinks won't kill him. They've all had a rough time, you know. Maybe he needs it."

"No." I don't think twice about my response. He can have plenty of fun without giving his brothers ulcers. The kid reads poetry for Christ's sakes. Apparently it don't take much to entertain him...

"No?" she repeats back incredulously. I have to say she sounds kinda sexy sometimes when she's pissed. Still, she's dead wrong.

"_No. _God, you have any idea how pissed his brothers'd be?"

"It ever occur to you to mind your own damn business?"

"Hey, it's my ass too," I insist. "Think Soda'll let it go if he hears I saw him and did nothing? Hell no. The second I saw the kid my fate was sealed."

"Then don't tell him," she says, as though it's an easy solution. Yeah, fat chance of that. Even if I keep my lips sealed, Soda knows half the universe. He'll find out. Not much gets past him, especially not when it concerns Pony.

She curls her arm around my waist and tries to pull me away. "C'mon now, don't let it ruin your night."

I push her arm off me gently. "It won't 'cause I'mma take care of it _now_."

I push my past her and approach Ponyboy. She sends me one heck of a glare, but I keep walking. I have to. Christ, all I can think about is Darry and Soda, and this is the last time I go feeling bad for anybody.

"Hey, Steve!" Pony tries to greet me with a high-five.

"How many beers you had?"

He starts holding up his fingers like he's trying to count. "Jus' two."

If I had to guess I'd say five. His eyes are red, and he's as tipsy as a teenage girl her first time drunk.

Curly snorts. "Sure holds his liquor well, don't he?"

"Shut up." I grab Pony's shoulder and yank him away from Curly. "The heck're you doin' here? I heard you tell your brothers you was stayin' home."

His eyes grow wide, and he starts to sweat something fierce. "Please don't tell my brothers I'm here, Steve. _Please_. Can't we just keep it a secret? You know, man to man?"

So he thinks he's a man, huh? Who knew hitting thirteen is all it takes... "You really think I'm gonna go for that?" I let my words sinks in for a moment, let his fear peak in hopes he'll be careful the rest of the night. He doesn't know yet, but against my better judgment, I've decided to honor his wishes. I dunno why. I'm still pissed as hell, but maybe Evie had a point. I know better than anyone their house feels eerie these days.

This is the last thing Darry needs anyway. It's a miracle Two-Bit convinced him to go on a date, and I ain't about to spoil that.

"Please, Steve," he begs again, and I cave.

"Alright, but only under a few conditions. One, don't you dare think about keeping up with that shithead." I point my finger and shake it in Curly's direction. "He'll hold more than you any day."

"Gee, thanks, Randle." Curly claps a hand against my back. "Jealous, are we?"

I flip him the bird and turn my attention straight back to Pony. "Two, you stop a full two hours before you head home."

"Why?" Pony's forehead crinkles in confusion.

"Christ, it ain't rocket science," I hiss, ripping the beer out of his hand. "You'll wanna be sober before Darry sees ya, won't ya?"

He grabs at the bottle. "Hey, give it back..."

"You've already had plenty," I say, smacking his hand away. "Three more tops unless you're lookin' to spend all night puking your guts out. I mean, if that's what you're goin' for, be my guest, but I'm tellin' ya, be careful."

He looks to the floor and mumbles, "I ain't gonna puke..."

"Yeah, you say that now." I roll my eyes in disbelief. "Mark my words, one minute you're fine, the next you're best friends with a toilet. Be careful, for Christ's sakes."

He nods. I can tell he's thinking real hard about my words. Perhaps too hard. "Hey, Steve? You, um, you _promise_ you won't say anything about this? Not even if I get drunker?"

I grab his arm again. "You mean to tell me you _plan_ on getting drunker?"

"No, I'll stop at two or three," he assures me quickly. "Honest, I will."

I stare at him for a moment, trying to decide if he's lying to me or not.

He gulps. "Just... you're not gonna tell my brothers, are you?"

"If you keep your head out of your ass, yeah, I'll keep my word."

"Don't worry, Steve, I will."

"Don't worry, Randle," Curly chimes in and winks at me. "I'll keep an eye on him for ya."

I almost slug him, but instead I ignore him and head back to Evie. The thing about punching a Shepard is you have to be 100% sure you wanna full on fist fight at that moment. You don't throw a punch and expect nothing in return with them, that's for damn sure, and though it's tempting—I ain't had a good fight in a long time, after all—I ain't looking to be the talk of the party.

If that happens, I won't get laid for the rest of this month. Evie already looks displeased over this. Last thing I need is her going off about how I'm getting in too many fights again.

I hook my arms around her waist and pull her close to me. "See? That didn't take longer than five minutes..."

She loosens herself out of my grip and presses her hands against either side of my face. "Who cares. Was that _really_ necessary?"

I don't answer that. I just pull her hands down and lean in to kiss her cheek.

"C'mon, let's go find find Sandy," she says, pulling me along with her. "I know she's here, and she's probably lonely without Soda."

I groan and go along with her pull. I could give two shits about Sandy. I only came to this party 'cause Evie wanted to. Honest, I'd have rather spent the night alone with her, but we've only been dating a month, and she still wants to do everything in a group. It just about kills me every time. I mean, it was like we were dating before we were actually dating—I even slept with her once—but now that we really _are_ going steady, she acts funny. We have to do everything the official way now.

We catch up to Sandy, and I play along with whatever they wanna do, but only in the interest of keeping Evie happy.

xxxx

First, we sit on crowded couch, and I have to listen to them chat for what feels like hours. They sure seem to know something about everybody at this party, and I swear the way Sandy talks about Owen Donahue makes it sound like she's got it bad for him. On and on about what a nice party he's throwing here. I dunno why she'd find anything in that asshole attractive, but I gotta hand it to him; he's got a boss place to throw a party. His mom ain't ever home, and if she is, she'd inclined to join him.

"It's a shame Soda couldn't be here," I hear Evie tell Sandy.

Oh, yeah, let's go right ahead and have ourselves a Sandy pity party right here. I mean, she's nice and all, but for the love of God, she's more sensitive than my little sister, and when you reach that level, you might as well be institutionalized.

"Hey, the pool table opened up," Sandy points out, and suddenly I like her a wee bit more.

Pool—now that's something I can enjoy, but this is still the last time I go to a party without Soda.

I can't help but stare when Evie bends over the pool table to take the first turn. She damn looks fine tonight. Actually, she looks damn fine every night, but she don't think so. Always comparing herself to Sandy, saying how _thin_ Sandy is, saying how _lucky_ Soda must feel to date a girl that pretty, but it's bullshit. I don't get the same feelings when Sandy takes her turn, and it ain't just 'cause she's Soda's girl either. She's good-lookin' maybe, but she's got this happy smile about her all the time, and people like that drive me crazy. Soda's the friendliest person I know, and even he doesn't pull that "Look at me, I'm a ray of golden sunshine" crap.

Evie saunters over to me and hugs an arm around my middle. "Wanna be a gentleman an' get us some drinks?"

That's her way of saying "You do this, or I give you hell". Always "wanna be a gentleman an' and blah, blah, blah". One of these days I'll tell her I'd rather be an asshole, but I'm feeling nice tonight.

I flash her a smirk and head off in search of booze. I hope she feels like having one too many tonight. I won't encourage it, 'cause that'd be wrong, but if it happens, I sure as hell won't complain.

I make it halfway down the hallway before I'm stopped by Owen. "Hey, man, Soda's little brother... He ain't lookin' so hot. I don't want nobody pukin' on me tonight."

"Do I look like I'm his keeper?" I ask but follow him over to Pony anyway.

There he is with a shot glass in his hands. I just about lose it. "You call this one or two more drinks?"

My voice jolts him. He drops the shot glass and nearly wobbles to the floor.

I decide right then he's going home and find Evie.

She takes the news better than I expect. Hell, once she steals a glance at Pony, she agrees he needs to be home, but she refuses to accompany me. Says she'll catch a ride with her friend's brother, and I guess that's fair. She doesn't need to deal with this anymore than I want to, but what choice do I have? I'm doing this for Darry and Soda, and Darry and Soda only. If Pony's drunkenness caused them no ill will, I'd sooner let him drink until he passed out and pray the hangover hurt like hell the next day.

xxxx

I make it home after what felt like an eternity at the Curtis's. I planned to drop him off and be done with it, but I stayed long enough to tell Darry what happened. Soda was a nightmare. Decided it was all Curly's fault and refused to see reason. Darry understood. Took me a while to explain it without setting off his kneejerk temper, but he eventually got it. Unlike Soda, he believes in using logic.

I unlock the front door and attempt to shut it behind me quietly.

I curse inwardly at the sounds of footsteps. Well, surprise, surprise, Charlie'll kick me out for daring to come home so late, and I'll be back at the Curtis's where the tension couldn't be higher.

"Steve?" a voice that isn't my old man's asks.

Both relief and frustration surge through me when I turn to see my eleven year old kid sister standing a few feet away from me. "The heck're you doin' up so late?"

Julia looks to her feet and shrugs. Something tells me she was waiting for me to come home on purpose.

I walk behind her and start guide her towards he room. She's tired and moves slow. Goddamn it, I just wanna head to bed already, but of course, she needs something from me. She always does.

She settles herself in her bed once we reach her room and stares back towards me.

I run a hand through my hair. I don't have time for this, but yet my feet stay right where they are. "What?" I ask her.

When she doesn't answer, I walk up to her bed and take a seat. She scoots herself as close to my side as she can get. I groan. She always has to be the touchy feely type, but I remind myself she's just a kid and loop an arm around her shoulder. "You okay?"

She nods, eyes watery. Yeah, that's far from okay.

"What're you waiting up on me for then?" I ask.

"You ain't been home in days," she whines against my shoulder. "I just heard someone come home and wondered if maybe it was you."

She has a point. Charlie kicked me out Tuesday night for arguing with our stepmom, and I didn't return until now—Friday. It takes me a while to realize that's all this is about. I keep thinking maybe Charlie was an ass to her or something, but no, she just missed me. I ain't sure why. Sometimes I swear I yell at her more than he does, but it feels justified. I yell at her so he won't yell at her, and that seems like a fair enough reason to me.

"Dad said if you didn't come home by tonight, he'd kick you out for good," she says, hardly above a whisper.

"C'mon, you know he'd never actually do that now, don't you?" It sounds like just another one of those threats he doesn't mean, but from the looks of it, it sure scared the her. "_Don't you_?"

She nods, but there's no certainty behind it.

"Listen, he won't do that," I tell her firmly. "When he gets mad, he says a bunch of stuff he don't mean."

She nods again.

I enclose my other arm around her, and it's only then she starts to relax. She stops shaking and her breathing starts to slow. "Don't let his bullshit get to you now," I add. I can't believe I'm defending Charlie of all people, but it's the only damn way to reassure her.

After a what feels like another eternity, she falls asleep. I lie her down, careful not to wake her, and pull her blankets over her.

I sigh and remain there on the edge of her bed for a while to be sure she's completely asleep. Last thing I want her thinking is I'm gone at this point. I plant an elbow on my knee and press my forehead into the palm of my hand. Christ, what I wouldn't give to tell my first grade teacher she was wrong. I _do _care about other people, and it's a fucking problem.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own.

* * *

Every Saturday morning, my stepmom decides she's June Cleaver. She wears a goddamned apron and flounces about the kitchen with a cheap smile plastered across her lips, like everything our lives is _perfect_.

"Good morning, Steve," she greets too cheerfully.

I raise an eyebrow to acknowledge her and pour myself a bowl of cereal. Before I can sit down with it or even think to put the items away myself, she snatches the box and the milk and puts them away for me. "Thanks," I say sarcastically, but apparently she thinks I meant it polite.

"You're very welcome, hon."

I drop my spoon into the bowl and peer up at her. That smile. It's too much.

"Something wrong?" she asks.

Damn right, there's something wrong. It's bad enough listening to her baby the crap out of Julia, but when she does it to me—all these cutesie, happy, cheery, pet names bullshit—it's intolerable. I'll admit ninety percent of the time I fight with her it's 'cause she overstepped that line. If she never pretended she was my mother, we might get along better. We might even get along well, but despite the lack of age difference between us, she insists on treating me like her son. It grates on me. I try to ignore it, but once that pet name hits my eardrum, I lose it. Honest, I don't mean to fight with her this much, but it bugs me, okay? She ain't my mother.

I draw in a breath and exhale. _Don't lose it. This time, you won't lose it._ "I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me that." Somehow I manage to say it politely; at least politer than my rude thanks.

"Oh, hon, I don't mean anything by it," she says, waving her hand through the air to dismiss it.

Several snappy replies sit on the tip of my tongue, but I ignore her in favor of downing my breakfast.

She cleans and cleans and cleans in the background, but everything always smells cleaner than it looks, like that lemon-scented shit my boss makes me use to clean the DX bathrooms. The peeling paint and cracks tell you how functional we _really_ are, tell you Rosie only thinks she's a miracle worker. It's all part of the "everybody look at me, I'm an adorable little housewife" act that keeps my old man placated and dumb. Only thing it's good for is an edible meal. I'll give her that much—our meals taste better since Charlie married her, but other than that, she's useless.

I take my last bit of the Wheaties and get up to put my bowl in the sink.

"Oh, here, let me take that for you."

She waltzes up to me, and I hold a hand up to block her before she can come within a foot of me. She frowns and backs off.

I wash the bowl and spoon myself and put them away. When I turn around, I catch a glimpse of Rosie from behind, and damn. _Damn_. I glance away fast and wipe my brain of everything disgusting. God forbid I notice how attractive she...

Picture this: you're fourteen and your old man marries the blonde beauty he met at the bar with a nice rack and curvy ass. She's closer in age to _you_ than him. She's supposed to be your _mother, _but all your fourteen-year-old brain can think about is how good her curves would feel in your hands, how nice it'd be to … Yeah, it's screwed up, alright. You don't wanna think about that shit, but your mind goes where you don't want it to go, you know? Two-Bit keeps joking I oughta set him up with her, has since the day she walked into our lives, and I keep telling him she's dumber than a bag of rocks. _Truth_. It's an awful good thing too; longer I've known her, the less good-lookin' she got.

I force myself to keep walking and nearly make it out of the kitchen when her voice halts me. "How was school this week?" she asks.

I flip around and give her a pointed look. I have nothing to say to her about school. She's the reason I ain't been home all week, and it ain't her damn business.

She clicks her heels against the floor.

I grit my teeth to calm myself. Whatever she's waiting on me to say, I ain't saying it.

She props a hand on her hip and shakes her head at me. "You don't have to give me this attitude every time I talk to you, you know. It's rude and inconsiderate, and you know how your father feels about the way your treat me."

I rub my temples and force myself not to yell. "Maybe if you cut the cheery bullshit," I start, but she cuts me off before I can finish.

"Ugh, I'm so sick of this." She slaps the rag down to the floor and stomps her heel over it. "Your father _will_ be hearing about this when he gets home from work."

"Is that a promise? Tell him, I look forward to it."

She picks the rag off and tosses it into the sink. "Damn it, Steve, I try to be nice to you."

I clench my fists and walk away. She calls after me with apologies and all kinds of bullshit, but I keep walking. All the threats about my old man mean nothing. I'll be gone in a minute, and I won't be back until they've both gone to bed.

I make it as far as the front door and turn back, but not because Rosie asks me to. There's something else I need to take care of before it drives me insane. I rush to Julia's room and find her half asleep and nudge her awake.

After last night, she needs to know I'll be gone, and she needs to understand she can't be up waiting on me if I ain't gonna come. God knows, she probably did every night this week.

"Hey, it's almost noon," I tell her, but she doesn't seem to care. She slaps me away and pulls herself up slowly. Her hair is a giant mess. It sticks out in every which direction, and I have to concentrate not to laugh.

"_What?_"

"I wanted to tell you I'mma be gone today," I tell her with a sigh. "Probably won't be back until you're asleep."

She shrugs. "What's new? You're always gone on the weekends."

My palms twitch with frustration. "Jesus, after what happened last night, I thought you'd wanna know. _You're welcome_."

She rubs at her eyes and lies back down into her pillow. "How late you gonna be gone?" she asks, and there's that hint of worry I expected to hear seconds ago. I focus on that worried tone before I forget why I'm sitting here in the first place and lose my temper.

"I dunno, probably past midnight." I rub the back of my neck, knowing these ain't the words she wants to hear. "Now I don't want you waiting up on me. Clearly you need your sleep if you're this crabby yet at noon."

"Promise you'll be back before morning?" she asks hopefully.

I groan. When is she gonna learn I can't guarantee _anything _like that? Anytime now would be fantastic. "I dunno, Jule..."

She nods, her eyes drooping downward.

I pat her arm. "I promise I'll be back tomorrow though, okay?"

She nods again, looking a little less crushed this time, but I can tell she'd rather I didn't leave period. I still don't get, why she thinks she needs me here. She gets along plenty fine with Rosie, and even our old man most of the time, but apparently that ain't good enough. No, she always wants _me_ here.

My promise calms her somewhat; enough she shuts her eyes and drifts off again. Now I have no doubts she waited up on me every night this week. Just judging by how sleep-deprived she is alone... The dark circles under her eyes are very telling.

I get up and inch towards her door. This time I will leave once I reach the front door. "See you tomorrow, kid," I tell her, even though she's probably out cold.

I keep walking before I make any more promises. Any more, and I probably won't be able to keep them.

xxxx

I reach the Curtis's to find Pony sprawled across their couch and Soda sitting next to him attentively. Neither of them say a word, but there's no need. Darry's brought the hammer down, and now they're moping about it—Pony because he's in trouble, and Soda because he probably still insists it was all Curly's fault.

Pony looks like hell on Earth. After last night, I swore I wouldn't feel bad for him. Shit, I _hoped_ this hangover would be hangover to end all hangovers, but damn it, if he don't look miserable. "Hey, Pony, word of advice for ya ..."

He lifts his head up for a second. "What?"

"Stay away from bright lights, eat nothing but bland food, and drink lots of water," I say. "Do that and you'll feel alright tomorrow. I speak from experience, man. It gets me through even my worst hangovers."

"I feel like death," he mumbles, burying himself into the couch again. "I hate beer."

I stifle a laugh. "You'll like it again one day."

He shakes his head into the couch cushion. "_Never._"

Soda glares at me as if I've said something wrong.

I glare back, and he sighs. "Darry grounded him two weeks."

Oh, the injustice... I lift my eyebrows in feigned shock. "Two whole weeks?"

"I swore he was gonna ground me for two months," Pony whines. "Man, that'd have been awful."

"You'd have deserved that," I say without pausing to think about it. I don't mean it in a mean kind of way; I mean it in a "quit your bitchin', 'cause it could be a million times worse" way.

"Shut up, Steve," Soda

"What? After that stunt he pulled last night?"

Soda's eyes narrow, and lucky for me the phone rings just in time to save my ass.

Soda jumps to answer it, and Pony covers his ears.

"Not so fun the next day, is it?" I ask him. "Better think twice before you do that again. Light, sound... Hell, even the air your breath is gonna be rough on you for the next few hours."

Pony sits himself up slowly and gives me a stricken look. "I thought we were gonna keep last night a secret. I mean, I ain't mad or anything, don't get me wrong, but I'm just curious."

_Ain't mad or anything_ my ass. If he's daring to ask me, he's hacked. "That all depended on you holding up your end of the deal," I remind him. "Christ, what'd you expect me to do anyway? Leave you there drunk?"

"I don't remember much, honest," he admits, rubbing his forehead. "Just that you promised you weren't going to tell, and well, I guess you did."

Of all the details he picks to remember, he picks that one. Why not stopping five times to let him vomit on the way home? Why not taking him home in the first place? Hell, I did him one hell of a favor, and all he can think about is Darry's punishment. "I think Darry let you off mighty easy, considering. I can think of worse punishments."

"But he's my brother," he goes in. "It's just … different. He's never grounded me before _ever_."

I take a couple steps closer to him. "You better get used to it if you plan on doing stupid stuff like that."

He looks down and turns his head away from me.

"Hey, if my little sister did what you did, I'd kill her." He _is_ lucky, damn it. Only two weeks for nearly drinking himself into a coma seems pretty goddamned lenient to me. I mean what I said too. Julia better pray I never catch her doing the same.

"Just keep in mind, this is twenty times harder on him than it is you," I add, raising my voice up a notch to ensure he hears it. "He don't like telling you want to do any more than you like hearing it, but somebody's gotta be in charge. When're you gonna grow up and realize that?"

When Pony looks up, I can see he's deeply offended by what I said. Alright, so maybe it was a little harsh, but I'm sick of him treating Darry like this. Every time I'm over here, they're bickering about something they don't need to bicker about. Always the same too. Darry asks him to do something, Pony gets sensitive about it, and before you know it, they're at each other's throats.

"I don't need a lecture from you," Pony tells me firmly. "You're not even my brother."

I stare him down. I want nothing more than to punch him, and if he weren't Soda's brother, I swear on all that's holy, I would. Might do him some good too. Maybe if Darry slugged him once, he'd get a clue. "Don't ask questions if you don't like my answers."

"What's goin' on?" Soda walks back in the living room. "Y'all arguin' about something?"

"No," Pony replies before I can even open my mouth. "Well, we were, but nothin' important."

Soda gives me a funny look.

"You heard the kid," I tell him. "Nothin' important."

"Y'all are crazy." Soda shakes his head at both of us. "Anyway, that was Sandy. She an' Evie wanna go to the drive-in tonight."

"Sounds good to me," I say.

"Hey, can I come?" Pony asks.

Soda gives him a sympathetic glance. "Darry probably wouldn't like that, seein' as he grounded you an' all."

"The flashing lights from the movie screen'll give you hell with that hangover too," I say. "What makes you think you oughta come along on our dates anyway?"

Pony doesn't answer, but he looks awfully annoyed with me.

"Yeah, that'd be a little awkward for you, Pony," Soda agrees. It's only then Pony quits giving me the stink eye because Soda is God and all the rest of us speak words of blasphemy. Give me a break.

I rub my temples. _He's only thirteen_, I remind myself. _Thirteen and fucking clueless, and it ain't worth getting pissed about 'cause everyone's a shithead when they're thirteen. Even you were._

The only thing is something tells me he'll hold this petty grudge a long time, and why? 'Cause I dared drag his ass home. I can't say I expected gratitude, but a simple "Hey, thanks, Steve" would've been nice. Next time I'll let him drown in his own puke. I swear, I'll leave him right in the middle of whatever heaping pile of shit he walks himself into, but I shouldn't think things like that.

We could replay last night a hundred times, and I'd do the same thing every single one of them.


End file.
